


You Feel Like Home (You're Like a Dream Come True)

by roughvoiced



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Platonic Relationships, fake dating au, i actually lied theres a tiny bit of angst blink and u miss it, narry r so in love, no angst wtf, so much gross fluff this is so nasty who even am i anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughvoiced/pseuds/roughvoiced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Niall sighs and unwraps the scarf from around his neck. "A plus one," he repeats. "I need one."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“For what?” Harry asks, watching as Niall unzips his coat, letting it slip off his arms and drop to a rumpled pile on the carpet before slipping off his shoes and striding over to Harry, plonking himself down on the sofa beside him and snuffling up under his arm, waiting for Harry to pull him in close before he speaks.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Greg’s wedding.”</i>
</p><p>or, the au where Harry offers to be Niall's plus one and ends up with a whole lot more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Feel Like Home (You're Like a Dream Come True)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narryworks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/narryworks/gifts).



> many months ago i tricked [kelvin](http://narry.co.uk/) into telling me everything he ever wanted in a fic under the proviso that he was giving me ideas for a wip that i had at the time. little did he know he was actually giving me ideas for his birthday fic so, obviously, when he asked for platonic fluff that often gets mistaken for dating......this is what my brain gave me. i hope u love it as much as i've enjoyed writing it (aka more than i'll ever admit) and as much as im hoping u will.
> 
> i'm not sure what year this is supposed to be set it just that it's meant to be some years into the future and even though i am aware that greg and denise have already been married for a few years this is an au so no one is allowed to criticise me for my horrendous timeline.

_This was all you_  
_None of it was me_  
_You put your hands all over my body and told me_  
_You told me you were ready_  
_For the big one_  
_For the big jump_  
_I’d be your last love, everlasting you and me_  
_That was what you told me_

 

“I need a plus one,” is the first thing Niall says when he arrives home on the first Wednesday in August. The weather outside is abnormally chilly so he’s wrapped up in his big coat and thick orange scarf looking more like he’s ready for a fortnight in the arctic rather than a five minute walk home from work.

“Sorry?” Harry asks, gently setting his book down on the sofa, still open so he doesn't lose his place.

Niall sighs and unwraps the scarf from around his neck. "A plus one," he repeats. "I need one."

“For what?” Harry asks, watching as Niall unzips his coat, letting it slip off his arms and drop to a rumpled pile on the carpet before slipping off his shoes and striding over to Harry, plonking himself down on the sofa beside him and snuffling up under his arm, waiting for Harry to pull him in close before he speaks.

“Greg’s wedding.”

Harry snorts, running his fingers through the tips of Niall’s hair. “Isn’t that in like, three days?” he asks and Niall nods with a hum. “Left it a bit short, haven’t you?”

He shrugs. “Forgot,” he says and then, “About the plus one, not the wedding. I knew about that.”

“I’m glad,” Harry tells him and drops a kiss to the top of his head. “You want dinner? I made lasagne.”

Niall nods, sits up a little so that Harry can wriggle his way off the sofa. “Do you think Liam would come?” he shouts through to the kitchen, grabbing Harry’s book off the floor where it’s fallen, some of the pages crumpled from the drop. “I daren’t ask Zayn again,” he says, as he smooths out the creases in the paper with the heel of his hand before he slips it shut and tosses it onto the coffee table. “And Louis would piss about too much. Plus I think he fancies my cousin.”

Harry laughs to himself. “Sure,” he says, shrugging even though he’s just out of Niall’s line of vision. “Or, yano,” he shrugs again. “I could come, I’m pretty sure I’m free for a few days. If you want me that is.”

Niall grins, rolling himself off the sofa to pad into the kitchen, wincing at the chill of the tiles beneath his feet as he squishes up behind Harry, arms coming up to wrap around his waist. “Always want you,” he says and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, grinning as he smacks a wet kiss to his cheek. “Can I have cheese with that?” he asks and Harry rolls his eyes.

“We were having a moment,” he huffs and Niall laughs, unwinds his arms from around Harry’s hips.

“Life is a moment,” he says, slapping Harry’s bum as he walks over to the fridge, pulling out two beers. “The ferry's booked for Friday morning, that okay with you?” he asks, sliding one of the bottles across the worktop and over to Harry.

“I guess,” he shrugs as he crouches down in front of the oven, squinting his eyes to peer through the dirty glass. “When are you gonna clean this?” he asks, turning his head to look up at Niall.

“I’m not,” Niall says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t make it dirty, I’ve never even used it.”

Harry huffs. “Exactly, so you should clean it. It’s only fair, you know, because I feed you.”

“So clean your own mess,” Niall says, taking a swig from his bottle. “If you think I’m getting down on my hands and knees to scrub that shit clean you obviously don’t know me.”

“If you don't clean it I'm not coming to the wedding. I'm not leaving the house until it's done.”

Niall snorts and raises his beer bottle towards Harry in a toast. “Looks like I'll be asking Liam after all then.” He says.

And that's how Harry finds himself elbow deep in oven grease with a ticket for Friday's ferry to Ireland tucked into the pocket of his sweats at half past nine on a Wednesday evening.

-

The taxi rolls to a stop outside of Niall’s childhood house at just gone ten on Friday night, the sky around them just fallen charcoal dark, the warm summer air ruffling their hair as they step out onto the street. Bobby and Greg are already stood in the doorway waiting for them as Harry lugs their cases out onto the pavement and Niall hands over a few euro notes to the driver, thanking him before he heads off back down the road, leaving the street in relative silence again.

Inside Niall’s old house looks the same as ever, Harry thinks as he toes off his boots by the front door, the same old carpet and sofa, the same photos still lining the mantle piece above the fire. “Probably know this place better than my own mum’s house,” he comments, drawing his legs up onto the spare bit of sofa between him and Niall. There’s a warm cup of tea clasped between his fingers, yesterday's Countdown playing on catch-up on the telly.

Niall grins at him, watching as Harry blows a ripple across the rim of his mug. “Love your mum’s house,” he says, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“You just love my mum,” Harry says, rolling his eyes and Niall laughs, leans forward to place his mug down on the side of the fire so he can pull his socks off.

“Everyone loves your mum.”

“We talking about Harry’s mum?” Greg pipes us as he walks in from the kitchen, a packet of bourbons tucked up under his arm. “Proper fit she is.” he says and Harry groans, buries his face in Niall’s shoulder.

“I hate both of you,” he groans, voice muffled by the fabric of Niall’s jumper. He smells like Harry’s aftershave and travel and days old sweat and Harry thinks he probably shouldn’t find the mixture of it as homely as he does.

“You love me,” Niall snorts and wriggles his arm free so that he can throw it around Harry’s shoulders, tugging him closer until he’s fitted comfortably under his arm.

“Do not,” he mumbles but presses a kiss to the side of Niall’s rib cage anyway.

They’re quiet then for a long while, still quiet after Countdown has long finished and Bobby has settled down on the sofa beside Greg to watch Match of the Day. Harry stays where he is sprawled across the sofa and half tucked up under Niall’s arm, face pressed into the fleshy part of his ribs as Niall runs a soothing hand up and down the top of his arm where the sleeve of his t-shirt ends. He can see Greg watching them out of the corner of his eye, can see the way his mouth keeps opening like he wants to say something and then closes again like he’s changed his mind.

They’ve always been like this, him and Niall, ever since they met, cuddly and touchy feely. They’ve been like this ever since they fell into each other at Louis’ Christmas party almost five years ago, the two of them meeting on the landing of Zayn’s mums house on a Christmas Eve, tipsy on too much white wine and Jack Daniels.

Harry doesn’t remember much from that night but he remembers waking up on Zayn’s mum’s bathroom floor the next morning with Niall on one side of him and Liam on the other, Zayn himself already awake and heaving into the toilet bowl as Louis had stared down at them fondly from the doorway and well. That had been the start of that.

“So,” Greg pipes up eventually, a half eaten bourbon perched on his thigh. “You seeing anyone at the moment, Harry?” he asks and Niall tuts.

“You’re getting married tomorrow, bit late for that, don’t you think?” he says and Harry can’t stop himself from snorting.

He shakes his head though, pushing himself up a little where he’s wedged into Niall’s side so that he can see Greg properly in the dim lighting. “M’on a detox,” he tells him. “No sex for a year.”

Greg nods. “I see,” he says. “And it’s going okay, I assume?”

“Jesus,” Niall mutters around a mouthful of biscuit, groaning when a spattering of crumbs land on his leg. “What a way to spend my Friday night, listening to my best mate and my brother discussing their shagging habits.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “Good job you couldn’t make the stag, you’d have been a right misery.”

“Would not,” Niall huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Bet it was well boring without me.”

“Did you have a stripper?” Harry chips in, wriggles closer to Niall again. It’s dropped cold in the living room now, the chill from the open window making Harry’s arms prickle with goosebumps where the fabric doesn’t cover. “I’d have a stripper if it was my stag. A man and a woman so everyone was catered for.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Yeah and you’d cost us a fuckin’ fortune in the process. Anyway, ‘course he didn’t have a stripper, no way Denise’d let him. Plus, they only went golfing down the club. Pretty sure they don’t even allow women in there, never mind one’s wearing nothing but underwear.”

“That’s sexist,” Harry says around a pout and Niall groans again.

“Fuck this, it's too late to get into a political debate with you, m’off to bed,” he huffs and shakes himself free from Harry so he can push himself up off the sofa, rolling his eyes when Harry falls flat against the cushions with a grunt. “You coming or not?”

Harry groans and pushes his face deeper into the cushion where Niall’s bum had been, staying there for a few seconds before rolling away and letting himself fall ungraciously to the floor with a thud. “Should probably come to bed,” he mutters against the fabric. “I’m guessing we’re up early tomorrow?”

Greg nods, his own eyes starting to droop shut where he’s propped against the arm of the sofa. “Wedding’s at one so we’ll be leaving here around eleven. As long as you’re ready by then it’s all good. I think I’ve left a couple of buttonholes and cufflinks and ties and stuff for the both of you in the guest room. Let me know if not but otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.” he smiles as Bobby shuts off the tv and the four of them wish each other goodnight before heading in their separate directions.

The double bed in the guest room is set up with some of Bobby’s old floral bedding which Harry is pretty sure hasn’t been seen since the early nineties if the musty smell is anything to go by but the two of them undress in relative silence, the blackness from outside spilling in and washing the room in a murky darkness. There’s a little light on the dresser by the bed, the washy orange glow of it doing little to break up the dark from outside so the two of them find their way around mainly by touch, occasionally bumping into each other with a half arsed apology wrapped around a giggle.

They each take their turn in the bathroom down the hall, quickly brushing their teeth and using the toilet before dashing back to the warmth of the bedroom and ducking under the covers to warm their cold toes against each others legs.

“I’m excited to see your family again,” Harry says after they’ve been laid beside each other for a few minutes, his eyes just starting to adjust to the dark. The air in the room is cool despite the time of year but he can feel Niall warm beside him, the heat from him spilling out across Harry’s chilled skin. “It feels like ages since I saw anyone other than your dad.”

“Same for me to be honest,” Niall hums, nudging at Harry until he rolls onto his side so that Niall can scoot closer and spoon up behind him, the two of them touching all over. “Gramma M is coming, I think,” he adds, draping his arm over Harry’s waist, shuffling around a little until their thighs are fully pressed together. “I told you about her, remember, a few weeks ago. She’s really sick, hasn’t been able to leave the house for weeks I don’t think. Mum said she was proper excited about coming when she went over to see her.”

“Be nice to meet her,” Harry hums and lets his eyes slip shut. “Thanks for bringing me.”

He feels Niall smile into the back of his neck. “Anytime mate, we’re gonna have a nice few days me and you.” he says and Harry grins into the darkness.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I reckon we are.”

-

The morning of the wedding goes like this: Niall’s alarm goes off at eight thirty four and the two of them trudge into the bathroom in single file still bleary eyed and half asleep to brush their teeth over the sink, their elbows knocking together as they go. There’s breakfast laid out on the table when they finally make it downstairs in nothing but their boxers and the two of them help themselves to coffee and cereal before heading out into the back garden to eat, the cool early morning sun barely grazing the tips of their toes where it peeks over the roof of Bobby’s house.

It’s quiet outside, the sound of birds and faint traffic filling their ears as they eat. Harry watches as Greg paces back and forth down at the bottom of the garden, a look of sheer terror painted across his face and, for just a split second, he allows himself to be thrilled that he’s not the one walking down the aisle this afternoon.

It’s still fairly sane when they head back inside, just a few people milling around and making last minute adjustments here and there and Harry thinks that it’s probably a completely different story over at Denise’s house. He’s seen almost every episode of Don’t Tell The Bride. He knows how these things go.

They mess around a little upstairs, watching tv and playing board games to pass the time but the both of them are fully dressed and ready to go just as the clock strikes quarter to eleven, done up to the nines in their fancy new suits and dress shoes, purple buttonholes and matching ties to finish everything off.

Harry’s just putting the finishing touches to his hair in the hallway mirror when Greg comes in, his own suit fully done up apart from the tie that hangs loose around his neck, dress shoes swinging from his fingers as he walks. “You two scrub up nice,” he says and plonks himself down on the bottom step to put his shoes on. He’s wearing octopus socks which Harry is pretty certain belong to Niall.

“Make a proper pretty pair we do,” Niall grins and slings his arm around Harry’s neck, tugging him into his side. “Surprised you’re not tempted to run away with this fine specimen of a man right here.” he says, scrubbing his fist through Harry’s hair.

“Gerrof you tit,” Harry huffs and wriggles his way out from under Niall’s arm to place himself back in front of the mirror to rectify his hair again. He really hates Niall sometimes.

“No offence intended, Harry,” Greg starts, smoothing his hands across his thighs before pushing to his feet. “But I think I’d rather stick with Denise if it’s all the same to you.”

“Absolutely,” Harry nods, salutes Greg where he can see him stood behind him in the mirror. “I don’t blame you one bit, gorgeous that one, you’re a very lucky man.” he says and Greg blushes.

“Thanks,” he smiles and ducks out of the already open front door.

The weather has started to heat up by the time everyone is ready and waiting on the front lawn, four big cars parked up for them on the edge of the street. Greg is already sat in the back of the first one, legs half hung out of the open door as he talks to someone on the phone, Bobby by his side.

“You guys know where you’re sitting?” someone says from behind them and when Harry turns around he’s greeted by the sight of a tall stocky man who he doesn’t recognise, the sunlight glinting off his bald head. He’s wearing the same suit and tie combo as everyone else though so Harry assumes he must be with them.

“I, uh. No, not really.” he says and shakes his head.

“Name?” the guy asks and flicks over a couple of sheets of paper on the clipboard he’s clutching firmly to his chest.

“Styles,” Harry says. “Harry Styles.”

He watches as the man runs his finger down the left side of the page and then flicks over another sheet, running his finger about halfway down again before he stops. “Front row,” he tells him. “If you just head down to the front and on your left there should be a name card for you.”

“Thanks,” Harry nods. “What about you?” he asks, turning to Niall.

The sun is high up in the sky now, the rays from it beating down and lighting up the back of Niall’s head so that he has to squint a little to see him, lifting up a hand to form a visor over his eyes.

“Think I’ll just be standing up front with Greg,” he says and shrugs off his suit jacket, folding it over his arm. Harry can see the little sweat beads forming along his brow and his top lip so he nods his head towards the path, letting Niall follow him until they’re out of the gate and stood in the slight shade of the bushes.

“I hope it stays like this all day,” Harry comments and glances up at the cloudless blue sky. There’s an aeroplane flying over in the distance, a flock of birds headed east towards the coast. “Love a good summer wedding. Denise showed me the plans and stuff when we Skyped them a few weeks ago, it looked lovely I’m so excited.” he grins.

Niall shoots a smile back at him. “Me too,” he says just as Greg starts shouting for everyone to get into their cars.

-

The wedding itself runs smoothly, the service and the photos all passing by in such a blur that Harry can barely believe it when they’re all bundled back into the back off the cars and rushed off towards the reception venue just after four.

The hall is all decked out in whites and silver, huge chandeliers and billowing curtains hanging from the ceiling. There are centerpieces and colour coordinated chair ties and decorations covering every table, the biggest cake Harry’s ever seen towering over in the corner of the room. There’s a dance floor in the middle of the room too, the head table just past it spanning the width of the hall.

Niall nudges him. “We’re sat up there somewhere,” he tells him and Harry nods.

“Cool,” he says, glancing around. “Have I got time to nip to the loo?” he asks. “Been busting since before they started taking the photos but I didn’t wanna miss anything.”

Niall snorts. “Got loads of time.” He points over to the dance floor. “I’m just gonna go talk to Gramma while you’re gone, okay?” he says and Harry follows his finger to a frail looking old lady sat in a wheelchair over by the edge of the room, Maura stood beside her.

“Alright, I won’t be long. I’ll be back in a minute,” he smiles and follows the sign for the men's room.

The hall is a little busier when Harry returns, the buzz of people filling his ears louder than before but he spots Niall and Gramma M easily over by the edge of the dance floor, the two of them laughing together about something.

“Here I am,” Harry says as he approaches, fitting his hand against the small of Niall’s back as soon as he’s close enough to. “What did I miss?”

Gramma M looks at him, her eyes wide as she reaches out to clasp Harry’s free hand between her own two cold ones. “Oh, you are every bit as beautiful as Niall described you, you must be Harry,” she smiles, her eyes squinting so tightly shut that Harry can barely see them. “I’m so happy he’s finally found someone, you two look so lovely together. I’ve been waiting for him to finally settle down for so long now. How long have the two of you been together?” she asks.

Harry blinks at her. “I-,” he starts but Niall cuts him off.

“About six months or so now,” he nods, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist and tugging him tightly into his side. “And we are,” he says. “We’re very happy together.”

Gramma M grins a little wider. “Oh, that’s so lovely. I’m ever so happy for the two of you. Look, I must be getting back to my seat now but I was going to ask if you boys were free on Monday? There’s a fair on down at the sea front and I was wondering if you boys might like to take your old granny out for a drive now I’m not housebound anymore. We can chat properly then and you can tell me the full story, I’m dying to hear all about it.”

Harry is. Well, he’s stunned. He can hear Niall chatting away, making plans for Monday but he isn’t listening, can’t think of anything other that six months and happy together and honestly, he’s just really confused.

Maura comes back a few minutes later to take Gramma M over to her seat before the meal starts, finally leaving the two of them alone together.

“What,” Harry starts, turning on his heels to face Niall. “The fuck was all that about?”

Niall laughs, lets out a breath Harry didn’t even know he’d been holding in, his shoulders sagging a little. “I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “She saw us talking earlier and she assumed we were together and she was just so excited and she’s been so unwell, I just couldn’t bare to tell her the truth. She’s been wanting me to settle down for so long now and she just seemed so happy I couldn’t let her down. C’mon, it’s only for a few days, how bad can it be?”

Harry snorts. “Well, I mean, other than lying to an old woman, what about all the rest of your family? Are we gonna string them along as well?”

Niall just shrugs. “I dunno, I’ll tell mum and dad and Greg what’s going on and it doesn’t really matter about the others. I barely see them anyway so we can just play along for Gramma’s sake and figure the rest out later. Come on,” he says, patting Harry on the arm vigorously. “It’ll be fun, promise.” he grins, and leans forward to peck Harry on the cheek before skipping off to the top table leaving Harry alone on the dance floor wondering what the fuck is going on.

-

The rest of the evening goes like this: dinner is served a little after five and, once everyone has eaten so much they feel sick, one of Niall’s old mates from college appears at the turntables, the sound of mid nineties pop filling the air. There’s cake and coffee and free booze and everyone is happy.

Niall leads Harry around the room by the hands they have clasped between them, introducing him as his boyfriend to everyone that they meet; old family and friends and long gone neighbours. It’s weird, is the thing, but not entirely unpleasant.

Greg had laughed when Niall told him, called the two of them fucking idiots and gotten a slap from Maura for his language. But then Bobby had agreed and, ultimately, so had Maura and no matter how hard Niall tries to hide it, Harry can tell that Niall’s miserable about it.

They manage to get a moment alone when Greg and Denise have their first dance, the two of them slinking off outside through the double doors, ignoring the sly little winks they get from people around them.

It’s dropped a little cooler when they finally get out, the sun just starting to set against the horizon washing the sky in beautiful mellow mixture of pinks and oranges and golden yellows. There’s a farm just over the way that they passed on the drive in, the sound of cows and horses and chickens filling the silence.

“Shepherds delight,” Harry says eventually. He’s leant against the wall of the hall, watching Niall where he’s sat cross legged atop a picnic table, rummaging around in his suit pockets.

“Huh?” he asks, brows furrowed as he pulls out a packet of smokes and flicks it open before offering the packet out to Harry.

He hesitates for a moment before shouldering off the wall and over to Niall, long fingers sliding the second to last cigarette out of the packet. “Red sky at night,” he tells him, nods to the horizon as he places the cigarette between his lips. “Shepherds delight.”

Niall rolls his eyes and takes the last cigarette for himself, flicking the empty box closed again and slipping it back into his pocket. “Fuckin’ weird you are, mate,” he says with a breathy laugh, sliding over a little to make room for Harry to join him on the table. “Need a light?” he asks.

Harry nods, leans forward for Niall to place the flame against the end of the cigarette hanging between his lips, hand coming up to shelter it from the slight breeze that’s blowing in from the east.

“Thanks,” he says and Niall nods, lights his own.

They’re quiet then for a long time, long after both of their smokes have burnt down to stubs between their fingers and the sky around them has dropped fully dark, the dull throb of music from inside drowning out their thoughts.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Niall asks as someone stumbles out of the door, giggling and drunk on too much sparkling wine. “After all of this is over, we’ll be okay?”

Harry laughs at that, nods. “Yeah,” he says, squints over at Niall in the darkness. He can barely see him, even this close, the silver of the moon lighting up one side of him. “We’ll be okay.”

Niall smiles then, properly for the first time in hours and Harry’s heart clenches a little at the sight of it. “I hope so.”

“I promise,” Harry tells him, voice quiet, and his words are almost lost to the sounds of the nighttime; the voices and the animals and the static but Niall’s looking at him with something Harry’s never seen before in his eyes, maybe adoration or love or hope or something but whatever it is makes Harry believe his own words more than he had just a second ago so, yeah, he thinks. Maybe they really will be alright.

-

It’s late when they finally arrive home, Harry and Niall and Bobby, so late in fact that the sun is already starting to rise above the line of the horizon, the early morning light of it spilling in through the bedroom window, painting a thin bright white stripe across their faces where they lay.

“We should probably close the curtains,” Niall says, whispering even though there’s really no need to.

“Uh-huh,” Harry shakes his head, hair rustling noisily against the pillow. “Can’t move. Might be sick.” he says and Niall snorts.

“Weak, c’n tell you’ve got no Irish in you.” he says and flicks back the covers to crawl his way over to the window.

“I’d love a bit of Irish in me,” Harry giggles, wiggling his eyebrows at Niall when he turns to look at him.

“Dick,” he mutters but there’s a fond little smile dancing across his lips so Harry thinks that he probably doesn’t mean it.

The room doesn’t get dark when Niall closes the curtains, knees his way back across the duvet to settle in alongside Harry, instead staying a kind of washed out yellow where the weak sun streams in through the faded fabric of the curtains. It smells like alcohol and man and sweat and fresh cut grass from the open window, the mixture of it wrapping around Harry like a second skin.

“Scoot over,” he says after a while, jabbing his elbow into Niall’s side.

“Huh?” Niall groans, cracking an eye open to peer over at him.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shut up, I know you weren’t asleep. Roll over, I wanna cuddle.”

“ _You_ roll over, you’re the little spoon.”

“Yeah, I know but I fancy a change. C’mon,” he whines, elbows Niall again. “Don’t wanna be in front, I’m scared you’ll squeeze by accident and I’ll be sick.”

“So instead you’re gonna be sick on me?” Niall asks, rolling his eyes, but he turns onto his side anyway and lifts his arm up for Harry to slip his own underneath.

He grins to himself, fitting his body up against Niall’s, pressing in close. “I know you love being little spoon really,” he whispers, splaying his hand out across Niall’s tummy. “Can’t fool me, Horan.”

Niall laughs, the breathy sound of it falling out into the weak sunlight. “You got me,” he says and holds his hands up in surrender.

“I knew it,” Harry smirks, hides a smile in the back of Niall’s neck. “Also,” he adds, stifling a yawn into Niall’s skin. “Sleep now. Gonna die soon if not.”

He snorts. “So fuckin dramatic,” he says, but he pats Harry’s hands where they rest over his stomach, smiles when he feels Harry’s eyelashes brush the nape of his neck. “See you in the morning.” he adds but Harry is already snoring softly behind him so he lets his own eyes slip shut and lets the noises of the early morning world finally drag him under.

-

Harry wakes up a little after four, the sky outside a bright baby blue where he can see it through the slit in the curtains, the warm afternoon breeze blowing in through the open window. The left side of the bed beside him has already gone cold when he flings an arm out against the mattress, the bed sheets wrinkled beneath his fingertips.

He swings his legs out of bed with a groan, grabbing the first pair of joggers his fingers find, tugging them on and up over his hips with a wiggle before trudging downstairs still bleary eyed and mostly asleep.

Bobby is laid out across the sofa watching an old rerun of Miss Marple, a mug of cold tea on the table in front of him. “Niall’s gone into town,” he says without looking over at Harry, bending his legs slightly at the knee to make room for him to wedge himself onto the sofa, which he does despite the one at the other side of the room being empty except for half a dozen cushions.

“Sorry I slept in so long,” Harry says before stifling yawn into the back of his hand. The living room smells like burned toast and sardines, a combination oddly reminiscent of his grandma's old house. “I hope you didn’t have any plans.”

Bobby waves him off. “Please,” he tuts, wriggling his toes until they rest comfortably under Harry’s right thigh. “The lot of us got rat arsed drunk and didn’t get home ‘till sunrise, I doubt any of us will be making plans before Christmas.”

Harry snorts at that, pushes sleep matted hair away from his forehead. “You want a fresh brew?” he asks, nodding towards the half empty mug on the table.

“Out of teabags,” Bobby tells him, finally flicks his gaze away from the telly. His eyes are puffy and sleepy, deep purple bags beneath them and Harry can’t help but wonder if he even got any sleep last night. “That’s why Ni’s gone out, needed a few bits and that pushed us over the edge. He’s been a while actually, should be back soon, I think.”

Harry nods, pushes himself up off the sofa. “Alright,” he says, and hides another yawn against his skin. “Do you mind if I go back to bed?” he asks and Bobby laughs breathily.

“You’d make a poor Irishman,” he laughs, tilting his chin towards the door. “Go on,” he says. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiles. “Tell Niall to wake me up when he gets back, would you?”

“Will do,” Bobby nods, reaches over to grab his cold mug from the table to take a sip. “See you in a bit.”

“See you,” Harry says, scrunching up his face in disgust as Bobby turns his gaze back to the box.

His legs feel tired and heavy as he trudges back up the stairs, joggers already shoved down around his ankles by the time he’s reached the guest room, stumbling over the threshold and under the covers again. He vaguely registers the front door opening somewhere downstairs but sleep tugs him under once more before he can do anything about it.

-

The next time Harry regains consciousness the guest room is bathed in a murky blackness, the silver light of the moon streaking in through the gap in the curtains. There’s a hot heat pressed up against his back, a dead weight slung across his middle.

“Time’s it?” he whispers into the darkness.

Niall snuffles behind him and groans something unintelligible into the back of Harry’s neck, breath damp against his skin.

“What?” Harry says, a little louder this time as he tries to roll over in the bracket of Niall’s arms.

“Said go back to sleep,” Niall groans. His breath is hot and sour in Harry’s face when he turns over and it should probably be gross but Harry’s dealt with it enough times now for it not to phase him.

“Can’t,” he groans, knocks their foreheads together lightly. “Not tired anymore. That’s why you were ‘upposed to wake me up earlier, told your dad to tell you to come get me when you got home.”

Niall shrugs a little, yawns in Harry’s face. “I did,” he says. “Came to get you but you were proper hard on, you looked like you needed it so I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Now I’m all out of whack, what fuckin’ time is it?” he asks again, reaches over Niall to grab one of their phones from the dresser, the glow of it lighting up the whole room a bright white when he presses the home button.

“Would you fucking turn that thing off,” Niall grunts, burying his face into the pillow beneath him.

“Would you fucking quit whining?” Harry huffs but he locks the phone anyway, letting the room fall dark again as he sets it back down on the dresser. “It’s ten to four.” he says.

“That’s nice,” Niall says sarcastically, snorting when Harry slaps his arm. “I’m going back to sleep now,” he adds, shuffling around a little until they’re both comfortably pressed together, their stomachs and thighs and toes touching under the covers.

“I’m not,” Harry sighs, lays his head against Niall’s shoulder. “Can’t, not sleepy enough now.”

There’s a siren blaring somewhere in the distance, Bobby snoring loudly down the hall.

“See you in the morning,” Niall yawns, ignoring Harry’s complaints, his eyes already shut. “Remember we’re picking Gramma up at half ten, busy day tomorrow.”

Harry nods. “How could I forget, I’ve been looking forward to being your boyfriend.”

Niall snorts at that. “Go to sleep, knob.”

“Alright,” Harry says, hides his smile against the skin of Niall’s shoulder and lets himself drop off for the third time that day.

-

The drive to Gramma’s house is long, all country roads and winding back streets and vast fields of green and golden brown. The sky outside is a miserable murky grey, much the contrast to the past couple of days, thick black clouds looming above them as they drive.

“I hope it doesn’t rain,” Harry says, letting his forehead fall against the window. The glass is cold beneath his skin, his breath fogging up the window. “I read that there’s crazy golf, can we play? It’s been ages since we played golf.”

Niall lets out a breathy laugh, fingers flexing around the wheel. “Hardly golf, is it?”

He shrugs. “Close enough. Not like it matters, I’ll still win.”

“Sure,” Niall says and rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, drawing his legs up onto the seat. “Where does she even live anyway? Are we close yet?”

Niall nods, flicks his eyes over to the clock on the dashboard. “She lives just outside of Malahide, ten more minutes and we’ll be there I reckon.”

“Alright,” Harry lets his head fall back against the window, watching as the hills rush by. If he looks over into the distance he can see the sea on the horizon, the dark blue of it merging with the sky. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he asks, not looking away from the roadside.

“Sure.”

Harry sighs and scrunches his eyes tight shut for a brief second. Radio One is playing low through the speakers, some indie song he’s never heard before too quiet for him to make out the words. “You know when we’re, yano, boyfriending,” he says lifting his hands to make quotation marks in the air and Niall laughs. “It won't be weird, right?”

It’s quiet then, the low rumble of the road and the radio filling the static silence.

“No,” Niall says eventually, carefully, slowly. “I don’t think so. We’ll make it not weird, yeah?” he asks and drops his hand away from the steering wheel, letting it fall down between the seats, palm upturned for Harry to slip his own in and take hold of it.

He nods. “Okay,” he says, nodding again and links their fingers together.

-

Gramma’s house is everything Harry expected it to be, all patterned curtains and old fashioned carpets, cute little trinkets cluttering every surface in sight, photos and ornaments and keepsakes. There’s a small shaggy dog curled up asleep in front of the little gas fire in the corner, old fifties music playing quietly through the speakers of a radio that looks old enough to be war memorabilia. “I won’t be long,” she says as she sets two mugs of hot tea down on the table in front of them. She still has rollers in her hair and slippers on her feet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Niall says, waving her off as he leans forward to grab their mugs, handing one to Harry as he settles back against the sofa. “There’s no rush, we’ve got all day. Do you mind if we put the telly on while we wait?”

There’s a tiny little box opposite the corner, a vcr player balancing precariously atop it.

“Not at all,” she smiles, adjusting her crutches where they rest around her forearms. “We don’t get many channels out here but you can see what you can find.”

He nods and picks the remote up where it’s resting on the arm of the sofa.

“Do you need anything doing while we’re here?” Harry asks, settling himself against Niall’s side.

She tuts, waves him off. “Don’t be silly. You’re already doing your bit taking me out for the day, that’s more than enough for this time. Plus, that’s what I’ve got your father in law for.” she says with a little wink.

“Wh- _oh_.” he blushes.

“I’m sorry,” she says but she’s giggling a little so Harry thinks she’s probably not really very sorry at all. “Are you not used to him being called that?”

Harry swallows, shakes his head. “I-no. No.”

“Well,” she smiles softly. “I suggest you better get used to it pretty soon.” she says, eyes flitting to where Niall’s got his arm tucked safely around Harry’s shoulders, their thighs pressed tightly together.

He blushes again.

“Anyway, I best be getting ready I suppose,” she says with a little clap of her hands and Harry watches as she turns on her heels and ducks out of the room.

“Well, that was weird,” he says, shuffling a little closer to Niall as he takes a sip of his tea, the burning hot liquid spilling down his throat. “Have you been talking to your gran about marriage?”

Niall hums and drags his gaze away from the telly. “What was that? Did you say something?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I literally just had like, a five minute conversation with your grandma, were you really not listening?”

He shrugs. “M’watching Antiques Roadshow,” he says and brings his mug to his lips. “What was she saying?”

Harry just laughs and shakes his head a little before resting it against Niall’s shoulder. “Just don’t propose to me any time soon, okay?”

Niall snorts and presses a kiss to the side of Harry's head.. “I’ll bear it in mind.” he says and tugs Harry in closer.

-

The sun is almost out by the time the three of them pull into the Townyard Lane car park just after eleven thirty, the bright yellow glow of it breaking out from behind the clouds and falling against their skin.

“Are you sure you’re okay without your wheelchair?” Niall asks as he leans over the driver's seat to slip the parking ticket onto the dashboard. “You won’t get too tired?”

Gramma shakes her head. “I’ll be fine, love, don’t worry. The doctor said I needed to start exercising when I felt up to it. It’ll probably do me good.” she smiles and slips her arms into the crutches.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Harry says. “What have you had done?”

They’ve started walking now, the smells and sounds and sights of the seafront overtaking them as they get closer to the water. He can just about make out the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, the smell of sea salt and freshly battered fish filling his nostrils.

“My knees,” she tells him, the sound of her crutches clicking against the cobbles following in the quiet. “Arthritis. Just one of the many perks of old age, I’m afraid,” she shrugs.

“You don’t look old,” Harry comments just as they round the corner onto the sea front, the wind whipping in from the water. She rolls her eyes and gives him a look.

“If you want me to put you in my will just ask, you don’t have to sweet talk me.”

Harry laughs. “I’m serious,” he says. “You wear the year's very well.”

“You’re a very charming young man, Harry,” Gramma smiles, nudges him with the side of her elbow. “Niall made a wonderful choice,” she says and Harry blushes. “So, tell me. Where did you two meet? Niall mentioned that you’ve been friends for a long while. I don’t see him very often now he’s moved overseas so he doesn’t tell me these kind of things anymore, I’ve been dying to know since the wedding. I really am thrilled he’s found someone, and someone so perfect for him as well.” She’s grinning now, lips stretched wide over her teeth.

He can see Niall walking along the other side of her, a shy smile on his face as he kicks along the pavement. “Do you want to tell the story or should I?” Harry asks and Niall’s head shoots up to look at him, eyes wide.

“Go ahead,” he smiles, brings his hand out of his pocket to gesture over at Harry to continue.

He smiles. “Alright,” he starts. The street in front of them is full of stalls and street traders and buskers, bunting looped across the road, big brightly coloured flags flapping around where they hang off the sides of buildings and caravans. The air smells sickly sweet like candy floss and popcorn and fish and chips, people milling around pointing and staring at nicknacks and stupid little trinkets that adorn the stalls. There’s a Ferris wheel in the distance, a little roller coaster next to it on the beach, the waves lapping at the wet sand barely a few feet away. The sky is bright now, the fog from earlier completely gone leaving the hot summer sun beating down on the sea front, warming them whenever the sea breeze drops away. “We met at a Christmas party,” Harry tells her. “Some guys we had mutual friends with were having a bit of a get together and we met there, nothing exciting. We’ve been friends for maybe,” he shrugs. “I dunno. Five years now. Something like that.” Four years, eight months, Harry thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “We haven’t been together the whole time though, we were just friends to start with.”

She nods, smiling like she’s hanging on his every word. “Niall said about six months?”

Harry nods. They should probably have talked about this and come up with a decent timeline before they set off this morning. “Yeah, I uh-on my. My birthday,” he stutters. “February. We got together on my birthday.”

“Oh, boys, that’s so romantic,” she gushes, reaches out an arm to stop Niall from walking any further. “I want to get a photo,” she says and starts rummaging around in her bag for something, eventually pulling out a digital camera. “If you two could just-” she motions her arms until the two of them are stood by the side of the street, the sea in view behind them, pressed together as close as they can be.

She smiles and brings the camera up to her face. “Make it look like you want to be with each other,” she shouts, waiting until they’ve rearranged themselves, tangling their limbs around each other's shoulders and backs before finally clicking the shutter. “Perfect,” she says, tutting when they step apart. “I want one more,” she says, waving her hands from side to side until their wrapped around each other again, the fabric of their shirts clinging to their sweaty backs where they touch. “Kiss for the camera,” she grins and Harry gulps.

Before he has chance to react, he feels Niall press his lips against Harry’s cheek, his hand tightening where it rests on his waist. He lets out a breath, grins for the camera and squeezes Niall back.

Gramma shakes her head. “A proper kiss,” she tuts, shuffling a little closer. “Come on, don’t be embarrassed in front of your old grandma.”

Harry smiles nervously, draws in a shaky breath and turns his head to face Niall. They’re close then, close enough that he can feel Niall’s breath falling out against his top lip, the heat of him spilling out onto his own skin. “Hi,” he says quietly and Niall smiles.

“This alright?” he asks and Harry nods.

“Can think of worse ways to spend a Monday,” he grins and Niall laughs, his head tipping back to expose the long line of his throat, the curve of his jaw.

“When you’re ready boys,” Gramma says, rolling her eyes and Harry giggles, winds his fingers into the fabric of Niall’s shirt.

“Now or never, right?” he asks and Niall nods.

“Now or never,” he says and then they’re kissing, warm and wet and perfect and nothing like Harry ever imagined (which he has) (a lot).

Harry vaguely registers the click of the camera shutter somewhere in the back of his mind but Niall makes no move to separate them, still holding Harry close as their lips move together and the cold sea wind batters their faces.

They pull apart eventually when Gramma lets out a little cough, the two of them startling backwards, flush from the tops of their heads right down their necks and under their shirts.

“Sorry,” Harry laughs quietly, hand coming up to wipe over his mouth, Niall doing the same somewhere out of the corner of his eye.

“Not at all,” she says, her smile bright and wide again. “I would’ve let you stand there all day but I didn’t think you’d want to waste the drive out here,” she adds, gesturing down the bustling road.

“Righto,” Niall nods, his hand coming down to take hold of Harry’s, their fingers wrapping around each other without a thought. “Lead on.” he says and the three of them head off into the crowd.

-

“I’m sorry about Gramma,” Niall says quietly. They’re waiting at the till in a little cafe part way along the front, one with red checked table cloths and tea cups and white wash walls. Gramma is sat waiting for them at a table by the window, shooting them sly little smiles every so often when she glances their way. “I didn’t think she would expect us to go all in.”

Harry laughs at that, knocks their shoulders together gently. “I told you, I really don’t mind. Just helping out a pal.” he smiles and Niall grins, reaches down to take a hold of his hand again.

“You’re the best,” he says quietly and leans forward to press his lips against Harry’s cheek. “The very, very best. I’m so lucky to have such an amazing boyfriend.”

“Fuck off,” Harry giggles, swatting Niall away just as the waiter returns with their drinks, two mugs of tea and a cappuccino laid out on a tray. They thank him and Niall grabs the tray before they turn to weave their way through the little tables and over to the window.

They’re quiet for a little while as they sit, watching the world go by outside. There’s a little girl perched on the wall across the road, ice cream smeared down her chin and speckled in the ends of her pigtails, the hem of her pink spotted dress ruffling in the wind. Her parents are sat either side of her, fond smiles on both of their faces.

“You’re staring,” Niall says quietly, kicking at his ankle under the table.

“Huh?” Harry startles, drags his eyes away from the window to turn to Niall. His cheeks are flushed pink from the heat of the room, the tips of his ears coloured red. “Sorry,” he shakes his head. “Was just thinking.”

Niall smiles at him. “S’alright with me, just don’t want you getting arrested for being creepy.”

“Hey,” Harry drawls. “M’not creepy.”

Niall laughs, brings his mug to his lips to take a sip. “Alright, whatever you say frog man.”

Harry pouts. “Ribbit ribbit,” he says quietly and Niall snorts so hard coffee comes out of his nose.

“You two are adorable,” Gramma smiles, handing Niall a couple of napkins to dab at his face with. “I do so wish my husband was still around to meet you, he’d have been thrilled to see you so happy.”

“I wish he was still around too,” Niall says, takes another sip of his drink. “Mum talks about him all the time, he sounds amazing.”

“He was,” she smiles. “He really was. We were so happy together and we shared some amazing times, that’s why I’m so happy you’ve found someone to share your life with.” She reaches out to place a cool hand on top of Niall’s. “You deserve it.”

Niall flushes. “Thank you,” he breathes out, glancing over to Harry. “We really are very happy.”

Harry nods, takes Niall’s other hand between his own and brings it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are,” he says, grinning. “I’m just gonna nip to the loo before we go,” he adds, chair screeching against the floor tiles as he stands up. “Niall.” he says, cocking his head. “Are you coming?”

“No, I’m alr-”

Harry glares at him.

“Yeah, actually maybe I will,” he laughs nervously, tossing his napkin onto the table top before following Harry towards the toilets near the back of the room. “What’s up?” he asks as soon as the door bangs shut. The lighting in here is weak, a murky yellowy glow falling over the two of them.

There’s a single cubicle on the far wall and Harry kicks at the door to check it’s empty before he hisses, “What the fuck was that?”

Niall blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“What the fuck are we doing?” he scoffs. “That poor woman out there thinks I’m your fucking soul mate or something, this isn’t fair to her, Niall, what if she finds out, huh? What if she finds out that we’re lying about it just to make her happy? What then?”

“She won’t,” Niall says and Harry laughs.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say? She won’t?”

“Harry, she’s eighty three.”

“Exactly!” Harry yells. “She’s eighty fucking three and we’re lying right to her face. How can you not feel bad about it?”

Niall shrugs. “Because it’s making her happy, and that’s what matters right now.”

“You’re not getting it, are you? What happens when she fin-”

“She’s got cancer, Harry,” Niall interrupts and Harry blinks at him. “She’s got cancer and she’s dying. She hasn’t got more than a few months left in her, Haz, that’s why she won’t find out.”

“Oh my, god,” Harry gasps, hands coming up to cover his mouth as he blinks back tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Niall smiles sadly at him, reaching out to tug him into him, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. I would’ve told you if I’d known you didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” he sniffles and rubs his nose against Niall’s shoulder. “I know you would’ve. It’s just,” he draws in a deep breath. “It’s a lot.”

Niall kisses his hair softly, rubs a hand up and down the length of his back. “Just enjoy today, yeah? Nothing that can be done now, don’t be sad about what you can’t change.”

Harry huffs out a breath and shakes himself free from Niall’s grip. “Yeah,” he nods, smoothing out his shirt. “You’re right. We should probably get back out there.”

Niall grins. “That’s my boy,” he smiles and plants a kiss against Harry’s lips. “You coming then?” he asks, holding his hand out for Harry to take.

He blinks at him.

“What?” Niall asks, brows furrowing.

“You kissed me,” Harry says and Niall’s eyes go wide for a second but then he’s laughing and tugging Harry into a headlock.

“Just staying in character, ain’t I?” he scoffs, rubbing his knuckles through Harry’s hair. “Why else would I do it?” he asks and rolls his eyes. “D’ya think I’ve got a crush on you or summat?” he laughs and tugs the door open. “Come on slow coach.” He shouts and lets the door bang shut behind him, leaving Harry alone and confused for the second time this week.

-

Three o’clock finds them on the beach, sun beating down on them from up high as they finish off the last of their fish and chips. The sand is busy, full of parents and little kids playing ball games and building castles, old people with their dogs and their grandkids and their picnics. The ferris wheel and the little roller coaster are close now, the candy floss machine just beside them filling their air with the sickly sweet smell of sugar. There are some surfers just out to sea, swimmers near by in scuba masks and flippers.

“I haven’t been to the seaside in years,” Harry says, his voice sounding loud despite the noises around them. He squints against the sun to peer down the far end of the beach, digging his bare toes into the sand.

Niall is sat close, close enough that if Harry was to kick his leg out a little they’d be touching, their fingers already brushing together where they rest in the sand.

“Me neither, never been in England.” Niall hums, eyes slipping shut as he tilts his face towards the sky.

Gramma is a little further away, perched on the fold out chair they’d bought her from one of the stalls they passed on the way down, one with bright green walls and floral shutters and sunshines painted in luminous yellow paint on the back wall.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly, knocking his elbow against Niall’s a couple of times until he opens his eyes and peers down at Harry.

“What?”

Harry grins. “Hi,” he smiles and ducks forward to press a kiss against Niall’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Niall nods. “I’m good. You?”

“Perfect,” he hums and leans into Niall, waiting for him to wrap an arm around his shoulder before he continues. “Do you think we could fit a wedding in before anything happens to her?” he asks quietly.

Niall snorts. “A couple of hours ago you were deathly against this whole idea and now you wanna get hitched? What’s gotten into you?”

“No, you’re right. It would be impractical. And unnecessarily expensive. Do you think she’ll make it till Christmas? I want us to get dressed up in ugly jumpers and take photos in front of the fire for the card we send her.”

“Harry, we don’t even have a fire.”

“Ssssh,” he whispers, leans up to press a finger against Niall’s lips. “Ugly jumpers and fires and eggnog.”

Niall laughs. “Alright, babe, whatever you say.” he smiles, watching as Harry turns to rest his head against Niall’s shoulder, staring up at him with big green eyes.

Harry grins at him, eyes falling shut. “Kiss me,” he whispers and Niall swallows.

“Are...are you sure?”

He nods. “Surer than sure,” he says, peeking one eye open to look up at Niall. “C’mon, she’s gonna be dead by the time you get your shit together,” he rolls his eyes.

Niall laughs. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles and leans forward to press his lips against Harry’s, hot and wet.

He tastes like the fish they had for lunch and diet coke when Harry licks into his mouth, hand coming up to wrap around the back of Niall’s neck to hold him close and it feels like nothing and something all at once.

It feels like home and, for a split second when Niall pulls away, Harry feels lost, feels like he’s drifted off to space without a tether to pull him back down.

“Alright?” Niall whispers after a few seconds.

“Yeah, I-” Harry nods. “Yeah.”

He smiles. “Good because I want to go on the ferris wheel.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “God, I thought you were gonna say something romantic. Shit excuse for a fake boyfriend you are.”

“Take that back.”

Harry grins. “Nope. You never wine and dine me, you never make sweet sweet love to me in the moonlight, you never buy me flowers or seduce me. I’m delicate, Niall, I need attention.”

“Shut the fuck up, you tit,” he snorts and throws his balled up chip paper at Harry’s head before pushing to his feet. “I’m leaving you.”

Harry laughs, letting himself fall back against the sand with an _oof_ , arms spread eagle out beside him. “You’ll never leave me, Niall Horan, my soul mate, my one and only, the light of my life,” he giggles, squinting against the sun as Niall comes to stand over him, one leg either side of his hips. “ _I’m lucky to be in love_ _with my best_ _friend_.” he sings, grinning when Niall throws his head back in a laugh.

“Shut up,” he says around a smile, holding a hand out for Harry. “You coming on the wheel or not?”

“Gonna make you do it on your own like a freak,” Harry says but he’s grabbing Niall’s hand anyway, letting him pull him to his feet. “So everyone looks at you and thinks _what a loner_.”

“Gramma, do you wanna come on the big wheel with me? Harry’s being mean.” Niall shouts over to her and Harry snorts, loops his arms around Niall’s neck so he can pull him down for a kiss.

“Go take your gran on the ride,” he says quietly, patting Niall’s chest. “I’ll get all the stuff together and bring it over and wait down the bottom for you.”

He nods, kisses Harry back. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be nice for you two to have a few minutes alone, I’m sure I won’t miss much.”

“Alright,” he says, gives Harry a final peck before breaking away to jog over to where Gramma is sat in her chair eating walnuts.

Harry watches as her face lights up as they gather a few of her things before walking arm in arm over the sand and towards to brightly coloured wheel at the end of the beach.

It only takes him a few minutes to gather all the rest of their things together, their rubbish and the blanket they bought and Gramma’s chair, a few little paper bags filled with the things they’ve bought from the stalls they passed.

The sun is still high in the sky despite the late afternoon hour, warm where it beats down on his skin as he heads for the pier to wait for them. He plonks himself down on one of the benches there, dropping the bags down next to him as he draws his feet up against his bum. He can see the wheel from here, Niall and his grandma almost at the top now, their backs to him as they sit close side by side.

Greg rings just as they reach the top making Harry’s phone judder against his leg where it’s squished down into his pocket. He answers with a cheery _hello_ on the third ring.

“Hi,” Greg says down the line, the little crackle of static following the sound of it. “Everything going alright down there? Dad rung, said you've taken Gramma out for the day.”

Harry nods to himself. “We have, and yeah. Brilliant,” he tells him. “The other two are on the ferris wheel at the moment, I’m on bag duty.”

“Sounds good. Gramma okay? She’s not struggling or anything is she?”

“Nope. We’re taking good care of her, me and Niall are. Dream team back at it again.” Harry smiles and Greg laughs.

“And Ni?” he asks, voice hesitant. “Is he, yano. He’s coping?”

Harry’s brows furrow. “I-yeah. He’s. He’s fine, I don’t understand. Is something wrong?”

Greg laughs again, the breathy sound of it filling Harry’s ears. “You love him, right?” he asks.

“Of course I do, he’s my best mate, Greg. I’m-” he takes a breath. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, no. It’s nothing. Just, enjoy the rest of your day, yeah?”

Harry watches as the ferris wheel pauses again to let another group of people off, a few more taking their place afterwards. “Will do,” he says. “See you later,” he adds and rings off.

It’s another ten minutes or so before the bright green carriage Niall and Gramma are in finally reaches the bottom, a few more minutes after that by the time they’ve both managed to climb out and make their way over to Harry, wide grins on their faces.

“Have fun?” Harry asks as soon as they’re close enough to hear him over the sea breeze.

They both nod. “It’s a lovely view from up high,” Gramma says, dropping down onto the empty bit of bench to the right of Harry with a groan. “Shame you didn’t want to come up with us.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures her, taking hold of her cold hand when she places it on top of his. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it.”

She nods. “I did, very much, thank you. I’ve had such a lovely day today, thank you for bringing me out.”

“It was our pleasure,” Harry tells her, dropping a kiss onto her cold skin. “Are you getting ready to head home now? It’s nearly half four.”

“Is that alright with you boys?” she asks, glancing between the two of them. “I am starting to get rather tired.”

Niall nods. “Absolutely,” he says and grabs a few of the bags from the other side of Harry. “Are you okay walking all the way back or do you want me to fetch the car?”

She waves him off. “Don’t be silly, as long as you don’t make me run all the way there I’ll be fine.” she says and pushes herself up off the bench with a groan.

Harry laughs and offers her his arm to take, smiling when she links her own through it.

“What about you?” she says to Niall, waving him closer. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to hold his hand.”

Niall flushes and holds a hand out for Harry to take, smiling when he links their fingers together.

“Better,” Gramma says and they head off back down the front and towards the car park.

It takes them the best part of half an hour to get back to the car, a little longer as Gramma starts to get more tired, and Harry doesn’t stop thinking about what Greg had said the whole distance, the words ringing on repeat in his ears like a riddle.

He corners Niall just as he’s loading all the bags into the boot, Gramma already secured into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” he says quietly, looping his fingers around Niall’s wrist, tugging gently until he turns to face him. “Is everything alright?”

Niall’s brows furrow. “Yeah, everything’s fine, why do you ask?”

Harry shrugs. “Greg rung,” he says, watching as Niall raises his eyebrows. “Asked if you were alright? Has something happened?”

“Not that I know of,” he says and shakes his head.

Harry nods. “Alright,” he sighs, unconvinced. “As long as you’re sure?” he checks, lifting a hand to place it against Niall’s cheek, watching as his eyes flutter shut for a brief second.

“Yeah,” he says, and pulls away from Harry to carry on loading the boot. “I’m absolutely fine.”

-

The ride home is awkward and stilted, silent except for the low hum of the radio and the occasional chatter between Niall and Gramma in the front. They drop her off and say their goodbyes, the two of them promising to stay in touch and visit again the next time they’re over again and then they’re off, back on the road for the long, quiet drive home, barely a word said between the two of them for the entire hour.

Niall’s out of the car as soon as he’s pulled up outside Bobby’s and turned the ignition off, through the front door before Harry’s even managed to climb out of the car.

“Hiya,” Harry says, as he lets himself in. Bobby’s laid out on the sofa again watching some old eighties movie by the look of it, half eaten pizza on the coffee table.

“Niall’s gone to bed,” he says by way of a greeting and Harry blinks at him. “Said he didn’t feel so good, bad day?”

He shakes his head. “No, um. No, we had a great day actually. Did some shopping and had a nice walk along the sea and went on some rides. It was lovely.”

“Strange,” Bobby hums and shrugs. “Maybe he ate something not so good. Are you going up too or do you wanna stay down here and watch some tv?”

Harry glances at the clock. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll stay down here with you, I’m sure he’ll be okay on his own.” he says and falls onto the sofa with a grunt.

“Pizza?” Bobby asks, nudging the box towards Harry with his foot.

He nods. “Thanks,” he says, leaning forward to grab a slice before settling back against the cushions to relax.

-

The two of them head to bed just after eleven, shutting off all the lights and locking the doors before they go.

Niall is asleep when Harry slips into the guest room, back to the door as his body rises and falls with the steady breaths he takes, so Harry’s quiet getting changed, as silent as he can be as he peels off his clothes before sliding under the covers beside Niall, holding his breath a little when he snuffles and turns over to face him.

He looks so young like this, skin smooth and pale, hair flattened to his forehead, and Harry thinks he could probably watch him for hours, has done in the past.

Not this time though. Instead, he reaches over to flick off the bedside light and drown them both in blackness, letting the rhythmic hum of Niall’s breathing lull him to sleep.

-

Niall’s already up by the time Harry stirs awake the next morning, the glow of the clock on the bedside cabinet reading ten seventeen so drags himself out of bed with a groan and through to the bathroom, brushing his teeth quickly and sorting out his mess of hair in the mirror before grabbing a dressing gown off the back of the door and heading downstairs.

There’s no one in sight when he peers through into the kitchen but the back door is slightly ajar, cool summer breeze blowing through and nipping at his bare ankles as he walks over to it.

Niall’s laid out on the deck, his back propped up against a terracotta plant pot that’s bigger than his entire body. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black Adidas shorts, hair pushed back off his forehead with an elastic hairband, a few stray strands curling around the tops of his ears.

“Morning,” he says without looking up when Harry slides the door open a little wider so he can slip out onto the deck to join him. “Sleep well?”

Harry hums. “Yeah, thanks,” he sinks down onto the wood opposite Niall, legs crossed. “Are you feeling better this morning?”

Niall looks up at that, brows furrowed for a second before his eyes widen and he nods slightly. “Oh, yeah. Much, thanks. Don’t know what it was,” he says with a breathy laugh. Harry watches as he sets his pen down in the crease of his crossword book and closes it slowly before setting it down beside his thighs. “My head was killing, think it might’ve been the drive.”

He nods. “As long as you’re feeling better now, though.” Last night's awkward air has dissipated now and everything seems to be back to normal without mention of it, the usual jolly smile on Niall’s face.

“I am,” he says and flashes Harry a grin. “Hey, did dad tell you the plan for today?”

Harry shakes his head, brows creasing a little in the middle. “Didn’t think we had any, thought you said you just wanted to chill out and pack.”

“Yeah, well,” Niall scoffs. “That’s dads for you. He’s invited some people round, some family I haven’t seen for ages are coming for tea later. He’s out shopping for some bits now, actually. You don’t mind do you?”

“Not at all,” he says and stretches his bare legs out in front of him, knocking his toes against Niall’s calf. “I’m only a tag along anyway, just here to keep you company. I’ll do whatever. Does that mean I’m on boyfriend duty again?”

Niall snorts. “You are.”

“Awesome,” Harry grins. “What time is everyone coming?”

“‘bout five-ish, I think. Plenty of time, don’t worry.”

Harry nods and tips his head back, letting the warm sun beat down against his face. It smells like bacon and fresh cut grass and Niall’s deodorant. “Hey,” he says suddenly and Niall startles a little. “We should do some baking.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I mean _I_ should do some baking and you should help,” he says and Niall grins.

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’m down for it.”

“Nice,” Harry grins and shuffles forward so that he’s sat between Niall’s legs. “Will your dad have the stuff? Or should we ask him to pick stuff up?”

Niall waves him off and pushes to his feet, the muscles in his calves straining as he moves. “Let’s just wing it,” he says, holding a hand out for Harry to take. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, you’re a good baker, right?”

Harry scoffs and lets Niall pull him up. “Please,” he says with a flourish of his hand before reaching down to tighten the flannel belt tied around his waist. “I’m the best baker you’ve ever met.”

“Master baker,” Niall says to himself and snorts at his own joke. “Get it?” he asks. “Master baker, like masterbat-”

“Yes, thank you, Niall,” Harry interrupts with a huff. “I got it the first time.”

Niall sniggers again. “Master baker,” he mumbles quietly. “God, that’s a funny one.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly in Niall’s direction. “I’m leaving now,” he says, heading for the kitchen. “Feel free to join me once you’ve fettled yourself.”

“No, wait, wait,” he giggles, stumbling over to Harry, letting out a little _oof_ when he smacks into the back of him. “I’m here.”

“I can see that,” he says, hands coming down to rest over Niall’s where they’ve settled on Harry’s hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh of them. “Have you been drinking?” he asks, turning his face to squint at Niall.

He shakes his head. “I’ve been drinking, I’ve been drinking, I get filthy when that liquor get into me,” he sings and Harry shakes his head fondly. “Gonna get proper smashed tonight though, yeah?”

“I don't doubt it,” Harry says and leads the two of them over the threshold. The kitchen tiles are cold beneath his feet when they step inside, the chill of it a stark contrast to the warm decking outside. “What are we even making anyway?”

Niall hums and leans forward to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder, watching as he starts to open and close random cupboards in the search of ingredients. “Something easy,” he suggests and slips his fingers under the opening of Harry’s dressing gown, smirking against his neck when Harry hisses at the coolness of his skin. “There’s a film on at half eleven and I don’t wanna miss it.”

“You could just, yano,” Harry shrugs. “Watch it yourself. I can do the baking on my own if you want, I don’t mind.”

“What the fuck, no,” Niall squeals, wrapping his arms tighter around Harry’s torso. “I need you there to cuddle while it’s on.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Alright,” he laughs. “We better get cracking then.”

-

They manage to dig out half a dozen eggs from the back of the fridge and find some self raising flour that’s only three months out of date. There’s butter and milk already, sugar in the jar next to the kettle, so Niall gets busy weighing out two hundred grams of each, setting out the bowls in a neat line along the counter once he’s done.

“Okay, so, you need to put the butter and the sugar in the big bowl,” Harry tells him, coming up behind him to peer over his shoulder. He watches as Niall empties the two smaller bowls into the Mason bowl and starts to mix them. He watches for a few minutes before laughing softly and shaking his head. “No, like-it’ll work better if you do it like this,” he says and presses in closer, hand coming up to wrap his fingers around Niall’s where they rest on the spoon, wrist moving slowly as he shows Niall how to cream the mixture together.

Once the ingredients are fully mixed he steps back with a little cough. “Flour next,” he says quietly and Niall nods, dumps the powder into the buttery mixture with a poof. “And then you fold it in, just like, Yano,” he shrugs and motions with his hand. “Fold it in.”

Niall laughs but starts to fold the mixture together slowly, bowl clutched tightly against his chest.

“Oh, wait, shit,” Harry says suddenly and Niall startles, dropping the bowl against the counter with a clunk. “We forgot the eggs.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “You know what,” he says and steps back, floury hands raised in surrender. “I think you should take over now.”

“What? No, you were doing such a great job.”

He snorts. “Fuck off, I was. I didn’t have a fuckin’ clue what I was doing. This is your thing, you’ll do a much better job than me.”

Harry nods. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he says and wipes his hands against the fabric of his shorts before hopping up onto the worktop on the other side of the room. “Do your worst.”

Harry laughs and shoves his fringe back off his face with the back of his hand. “Alright,” he nods and Niall watches as he finishes off the mix quickly, grabbing a couple of tins off the side to butter up once he’s done. He greases them with ease and tips some of the mixture into each one, leaving a little in the bottom of the bowl for Niall to eat with his fingers while Harry washes up.

By the time half past eleven rolls around the entire house smells like fresh cake mix, the warming scent of it enveloping them where they lay, pressed together on the sofa.

“Can we decorate it?” Niall asks as the opening titles of Ted roll across the screen. “I think I saw some sprinkles in one of the cupboards.”

Harry hums, smiling to himself when Niall tightens his arms where they lay around his waist, pulling them closer together. “Later,” he says. “After the film, they’ll be cool then. There’s some food colouring somewhere too, could make a rainbow cake.”

“Let’s write _Niall and Harry for life_ on it, _Niall and Harry, the greatest team the world has ever seen_.”

“You....you did see the size of the cakes right?” Harry asks.

“We could put the date of our wedding on it,” Niall suggests, ignoring Harry completely.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up and watch the film or I’ll decorate it myself.”

Niall snorts, tugs Harry impossibly closer. “You love me,” he giggles and Harry grins.

“You can’t prove a thing, Horan.”

-

As it turns out, Bobby seems to have invited roughly three quarters of the Irish population around for tea so, by seven o’clock the house is packed. The kitchen table is littered with half empty plates of finger food; mini sausage rolls and salad and quiche and scotch eggs and pasta salads and suddenly Harry feels like he’s back at Zayn’s house on Christmas Eve five years ago.

He can see Niall sat in the living room, squished up on the sofa between two of his cousins, laughing about something Harry is too far away to hear. He glances through to the kitchen every so often, flashing Harry a grin before his attention is taken somewhere else. It feels like a lot, being Niall’s _boyfriend_ around his family, family that he’s met countless times before in different capacities, but it’s easy and natural and Harry feels like he’s been doing it all his life.

It’s scary because, deep down, he knows that none of this is different; knows that this is the way they act all the time, that there’s a reason why they get teased about being an old married couple all the time but it’s still. It’s a lot, is what it is, and he’s doing his best not to think about it. The last thing he needs right now is to develop those kind of feelings for his best friend.

By about ten the house is mostly empty, everyone with young children and old parents having left a while ago leaving just Harry and Niall and a few of his cousins and old school friends, a group of them sat cross legged around the coffee table in the living room.

“I should probably go help your dad do the washing up,” Harry slurs from where he’s laid, head in Niall’s lap. “There’s a lot of it,” he adds but makes no move to stand up.

Someone across the other side of the table snorts. “You’re fucked, mate. You’d be about as much help as a chocolate teapot.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry slurs, curling into himself until his nose is brushing against Niall’s tummy. “Tell them to stop being mean to me, Niall. They’re bullying me.”

“He’s not wrong,” Niall says and Harry huffs.

“Bitch.”

It’s quiet then for a while, the sound of clanging pots in the next room the only thing breaking up the silence until someone finally speaks.

It’s Deo that does it. “We should get tattoos,” he says and, for some stupid reason, everyone agrees.

One of Niall’s old school friends is a tattoo artist, apparently, although once Harry catches sight of the mobile equipment in the back of his old Toyota pickup he’s suddenly not so convinced.

It takes two of them to carry all the stuff inside and set it up on the coffee table, the big black box sitting ominously between them.

No one moves.

“Should we-” someone starts but Niall shushes them.

“We should do tattoo roulette,” he says and a room full of piss drunk boys nod at him.

They find some straws in the kitchen and Niall grabs a pair of scissors from the cutlery drawer, the crappy ones with the green handle that don’t cut very well, and before they know it the lot of them are crowded around a fist full of different length straws.

Deo goes first, Alex from next door right after him, then Ryan from school and suddenly the only two people left to draw are Harry and Niall, the short straw still gripped tightly somewhere in Deo’s fist.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Niall says quietly and Harry laughs, elbows him sloppily in the ribs.

“C’mon,” he urges. “Just pick one, you’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head. “You go first.” he says and Harry huffs.

“Fine,” he grumbles and grabs the straw on the left, pulling it out quickly.

It’s short.

“Oh my, god,” Niall cries and grabs the last remaining straw, chest heaving. “Oh my, god. I thought I was gonna have to get my first tattoo while I was drunk in my dad’s living room,” he gasps, flinging himself into Harry’s arms, chest still rising and falling and rapidly. “Oh my, god, I’m so happy.”

“Jesus,” he laughs, hand coming up to rub soothing circles across Niall’s back. “Just breathe, okay? You’re fine, you wouldn’t have had to do it anyway.”

Niall snorts, face still buried against Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah, like a bunk of drunk guys are gonna let me off getting a shit tattoo.”

Harry smiles and presses a kiss to the side of Niall’s head. “I’d have gotten it for you, dick. Wouldn’t have let you do that to yourself, I might be pissed but I’m not stupid.”

Niall looks up at him then, wide eyed and blinking and then he’s grabbing Harry’s face between his hands and pulling him in so he can press a kiss to his lips, hard and urgent and uncharacteristically _real_.

He stumbles backwards, grinning, Harry’s head still sandwiched tightly between his palms. “What are you getting and where? C’mon,” he rushes out, bouncing giddily on the balls of his feet. “I’m bored of waiting, get some skin out.”

Everyone laughs and makes room for Harry to sit down on the floor, back propped up against the brown leather of the sofa.

“Alright,” the tattoo guys says and flicks on the machine. “What’s it to be?”

Harry hums and rolls up his sleeve. “I want it just here, I think,” he says, and points to a patch of bare skin right below his rose tattoo. “And I want Niall to do it.”

The room goes deathly quiet, the hum of the tattoo machine breaking up the static as everyone turns to look at Niall.

“I can’t do that,” he says and Harry laughs.

“Sure you can, come on. It’s not that hard, I trust you.” Harry says and Niall gulps, nods a little and knees his way across the carpet towards Harry.

He watches at the guy, who’s name Harry still doesn’t know, talks Niall through what to do, shows him what to press and what not to press, shows him how much pressure he needs so he doesn’t hurt Harry and then he’s ready, tattoo gun clutched tightly between his fingers.

The room is bathed in a murky yellow glow from the spotlights in the kitchen, the moon and the street lights shining in through the window and, when he glances up at Niall through hooded lids and sees the painful concentration etched onto his face he knows, right there and then, that he would do anything for this boy.

“What,” Niall coughs. “What am I doing? I mean, the tattoo,” he clarifies. “What tattoo am I doing?”

Harry smiles. “Surprise me.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Tell me, or I won’t do it.”

“Yes you will,” he says, smirk on his lips. “Just do it. You say all the time how stupid my tattoos are, you know I’m not fussy.”

“Gonna tattoo a massive cock and balls on you,” Niall mumbles. “See how your mother likes that.”

Harry snorts at that, hand coming up to clamp over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry,” he laughs and straightens his arm out. “Stop making me laugh and just get on with it.”

Niall grins. “Alright,” he nods and presses the needle to Harry’s skin.

His hair is long enough now that it flops down over his face when he starts working, low enough that Harry can’t quite see what he’s doing, the pain too much that he can’t make out the shape of the movements against his skin, the thrum of it surging through his veins.

It doesn’t take Niall long, barely a couple of minutes before he’s looking up at Harry with a grin as he wipes away the excess ink from his skin, and it takes Harry a couple of seconds as he lets his eyes adjust to the light after having them screwed tight shut but as they focus he can see it right there on his arm, the thin black outline of a heart tattooed right below the rose.

He’s quiet for a few seconds, everything is quiet, but then he’s grabbing Niall and kissing him hard on the mouth in front of his friends and his neighbours and his relatives without a care in the world.

The pain in his arm is still there when they break apart, still throbbing numbly against his bones but, when he whispers _I love you_ against Niall’s lips, he’s not sure he’s pretending anymore.

-

The taxi arrives at three minutes past six, pulling up on the curb outside Bobby’s house when the sky outside is still pink with early morning light, the birds chattering away in the distance, and the two of them spend a few minutes saying their goodbyes to him as the driver loads their bags into the boot.

Bobby is wearing the dressing gown Harry had been lounging in yesterday, the material of it held tightly around his body as they wait.

“Keep in touch,” he says as the driver signals for them to leave, and Niall agrees, because he always does.

The roads are quiet at this time of day, a sparse spattering of cars littering the main streets as they head east towards the coast. The driver has something on the radio, the sound of it playing low through the speakers as they drive and the two of them sit close on the back seat, Harry tucked safely up under Niall’s arm as best he can be with a seatbelt across his chest, the slow drum of his heartbeat below his ear.

“I’ve had a lovely few days,” he says and Niall startles a little like he’s forgotten Harry is even there. “Thanks for bringing me.” His arm is laid across Niall’s lap, cling film wrapped tightly around part of it, hiding his new tattoo from sight. They haven’t talked about it.

“Thanks for coming,” Niall tells him, the gravelly sound of it reverberating through Harry’s ear. “You make a great fake boyfriend.”

Harry laughs a little and shuffles closer. “You too,” he says, grinning up at Niall. “We can like, yano,” he waves his arm about a little. “We don’t have to tell anyone about this, right? It’s not like I’m ashamed or anything it’s just. I dunno.” he shrugs.

Niall shakes his head. “Course not,” he agrees, and holds his pinky finger out for Harry to take with his own. “Our little secret.”

-

“I knew it,” Louis says as soon as Harry opens the passenger door of his little black Corsa. They’re back in England now, the summer sun beating down on them where they stand just outside the dock. “I fucking knew it.”

“Hello to you too, Louis,” he huffs as he falls into the seat with a grunt. He’s listening to Matt Edmondson on the radio. “We’ve had a lovely weekend, thanks for asking.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, I’m glad you enjoyed it but still, I’m so happy. Liam owes me a tenner now.” he says and pulls away from the curb after checking they’ve both got their seat belts on, the crunch of the tires almost fully draining out the sound of the music that’s coming through the speakers.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Niall asks from the back seat. He’s wedged up against the window, their two cases squished onto the backseat beside him.

Louis furrows his eyebrows at him in the rearview mirror. “I’m talking about the fact that you two have finally gotten your shit together and hooked up after like, oh, I don’t know, five fucking years.” he huffs. “Anyway, Liam didn’t think it would take you so long so now he owes me.”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not-we’re not together.”

“Harry, sweetie, I’ve literally seen the photos on Facebook with my own two eyes. No one munches face like that if they’re not together, it’s a fact.”

Niall laughs a little from the back of the car. “It’s a long story,” he says just as Louis indicates to pull onto the motorway.

“Well,” Louis tuts, glancing to the sign on the side of the road. “Only two hundred miles to go so you better talk fast.”

-

The revelation comes later that evening.

“Maybe we should just date,” Niall suggests nonchalantly while they’re watching last week's Bake Off on catchup and, well. Harry doesn't really know what to say to that.

They’re laid out on the sofa, unpacked bags dumped on the floor by their feet. The fire in the corner is chugging out heat into the cold room, the two of them squished up under a blanket to keep warm and, really, Harry should’ve seen this coming.

“Pardon?” he says, and blinks up at Niall.

He shrugs. “I mean, everyone already thinks we are and I think I’m pretty much in love with you anyway.”

And, oh. Maybe Harry didn’t see this coming at all. “You’re-you’re in love with me?” he repeats. “Like, _in love with me_ in love with me?”

Niall laughs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Oh my, god. I thought you knew,” he groans into his skin, sinking further down against the sofa cushions.

Harry shakes his head. “How could I know?” he asks, grin on his face as he watches Niall’s cheeks flush a deep pink.

“God,” he scoffs. “You’re such a fucking idiot. I’ve been pretending you’re my boyfriend all weekend, you don’t think I could’ve gotten out of it easily?”

“But,” Harry’s brows furrow. “You said-Gramma?”

Niall shakes his head. “She didn’t assume we were dating,” he says quietly. “I just told her we were. I figured you’d fall for it, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in that position, I didn’t think about how uncomfortable it would make you. I just. I just wanted to pretend it was real for a few days because I think about it like, a lot and I couldn’t bare the thought of someone else getting to you before I had a chance.”

Harry laughs at that and rearranges himself so that he’s perched atop Niall’s thighs, a knee either side of him as he takes Niall’s hands in his own, pulling them away from his face so he can put his own there, cupping his cheeks gently

“You’re such a twat,” he grins and then presses his lips against Niall’s. He can taste the soup they had for lunch on the ferry when he licks into his mouth, the champagne they had afterwards. “I would’ve said yes.” Harry says as he pulls away. “I’d have said yes.”

Niall blinks at him. “Yes to what?”

“Going out with you,” he says and Niall gulps. “If you’d asked, like normal person,” he grins. “I’d have said yes.”

“Oh,” Niall says quietly and Harry giggles, knocks their foreheads together.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers and Niall nods. “I think I’m a little bit in love with you too.”

Niall grins at that, his hands coming up to settle against the skin of Harry’s hips beneath his shirt. “That’s good,” he says. “If we’re gonna make this work, I mean.” he adds and Harry nods.

“It is,” he hums and rubs his thumbs against Niall’s jaw. “And we will, make it work, I mean. If you still want to that is?”

Niall nods. “I want to.” he says and kisses Harry again.

They’re quiet then for a long while, their faces close as they hold each other, smiles wide and bright like the sun that’s shining in through the window. There are a lot of things they should probably be talking about, things they should be doing instead of sitting here staring at each other but neither of them seem to want to move.

“I have to know something,” Harry asks eventually, the sound of it loud over the crackle of the fire. “How much of it was real?”

Niall gulps and glances away from Harry’s face. His cheeks are still flush when he looks back up, eyes bashful and wide. “All of it, I think,” he says and Harry nods slowly. “Most of it, at least.”

Harry nods again and then draws in a shaky breath, holds it there for a few seconds before he speaks. “I don’t know what I want from the future,” he says and there’s something weird in his voice when he speaks, worry or fear or something that he doesn’t recognise in himself. “And I don’t know where I see myself ten years from now and I don’t know who I am and or whether I’m in love with you but I do know that I absolutely could be if I tried and that should probably scare me but it really, really doesn’t,” he says, laughing breathily through his nose. “Because, the truth is that I’m happy with you. I’m happier with you than I’ve ever been with anyone else in my life and I don’t really know what that means but surely it means something, right?”

Niall blinks at him, soft smile on his lips as he presses their mouths together, just the slightest gentle touch but Harry feels it down in his toes. “I think it means everything,” he says and Harry grins, kisses him harder.

“I want this,” he tells him. “I want it so bad.”

“I know,” Niall nods. “So do I.”

Harry laughs, kisses Niall again, laughing into his mouth until he’s breathless and dizzy with it. “Looks like Liam owes Louis that tenner after all.” he says when he pulls back and Niall snorts.

“Yeah,” he grins, kisses Harry’s lips once more. “Looks like he does.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://gryles.com/) if you want.


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